Nearer My God To Thee
by Rubrixcubeify
Summary: "Sometimes the wolves are silent and the moon howls." George Carlin. The Prowler's mute student has become more than just an apprentice, but the age old-war has a spectacular way of both tearing things apart, and putting them back together.
1. Capitolo Uno

The only thing that filled her vision besides the white pain that now attacked her entire system was a pair of sadistic, laughing eyes that gazed down at her mockingly. A hood cast a dark shadow across the man's eyes, giving them a strange but terrifying glow because of the angle his head was tipped. She wanted to spit every insult her creative mind could conjure, to show this beast that she was not their weak prey, as he and his partner surely thought, but she couldn't and it horrified her. Only moments ago she had been screeching and kicking, but she was quickly growing weak, the world fading black as she passed into unconsciousness, and whatever this glowing-eyed man's partner had done to her throat had made her choke and sputter and go silent, as much as she meekly struggled and rasped for words. That dark, mocking chuckle grew at her fear struck eyes, and was the last thing the young girl heard before passing out atop the wooden operation table her form had been sprawled across.

1 Year Later

"Calendre," he purred. She stirred a little at her name. "Calendre, we need to go." This time he was a bit more firm and he added a quick squeeze to her shoulder. He watched with a smile when her eyes fluttered open. She looked utterly exhausted. She had dark circles under her eyes and she looked slightly dazed. Although, that was likely Lupo's fault. His smile turned into a smirk. Calendre scowled at him and stretched languidly across the bed. The young templar crawled away from Il Lupo and sauntered towards the long mirror that leaned in the corner. She let out a little sigh, and her hand traveled up to her soft, now bruised lips to gently brush there.

Lupo watched with mild curiosity. She was glorious. It was months before he finally realized how womanly her figure was. It didn't take long after that for him to understand that she was not simply pretty; she was captivating. Her eyes were a warm olive color and her jaw was strong and angled which, with her feminine cheeks and nose, created a lovely visage. Her lips were always a rosy pink, though sometimes chapped from neglect. Even then, he very much enjoyed watching her tongue glide across them in a subconscious attempt at moistening them. The wolf's eyes strayed from her lips to her hair, which was glaring in the morning sun, then down to her resplendent body. God, he wanted to take her. He wanted to ravish her and make her scream those silent screams again. However, he could not. Not now. They had business that desperately needed to be attended to. He had been assigned to train her as a "learning experience" for himself, and at first, the wolf had been furious to have been tied to an "inexperienced child" but he quickly saw her talent. After that, it didn't take him long to grow attached to her, though her spectacular body helped. Their relationship had been strictly forbidden by Fiora, and he had tried to resist catering to his needs, but he found himself unable to pull away from her. She was absolutely wonderous, both her steady, strong flame of a personality and her masterpiece of a body. So, their strange relationship existed in secret, for that was the only way it could be right now if he wanted to keep one of his most valuable appendages. After she was no longer a student and instead a colleague, perhaps it could be more, but for now, this was the only option.

"Get dressed. We're supposed to be on the way to the docks right now." She turned to give him look of expectation.

"Please?" He said it with a sneer. The only reason she enjoyed making him say things like that is because she loved it when he reaped revenge the following night, leaving her sore and marked in the morning. The wolf stood and collected their clothing from the floor, tossing Calendre her things as he plucked them up. She was already tying her finishing sash around her waist with deft fingers by the time he was pulling on his trousers. He hurried himself, and after they were completely dressed, they both made their way down to the shipping yard.

...

Calendre examined the sprawling activity below them. She was searching for their target, a merchant by the name of Angelo Moretti, but she couldn't help but let her eyes wander over all of the interesting characters she saw on the docks. She had always seen merchants as one of the most interesting segments of society. They always had such fascinating mannerisms. They were all different from anything seen deeper in the city, and even different from each other. All of them had been to far away places and met strange people. They had picked up a colorful array of items and habits that added up to a body of people that couldn't help but draw the curious eye. She often found herself slightly envious of their travels.

The girl pulled her eyes from a man that was flaunting strange pottery and continued her search. When her eyes locked onto a man that was shouting deals at passing citizens and matched the description they'd recieved of Moretti, a grin stretched onto her face. She tipped her head at him, and Il Lupo whispered a "good" in her ear. He stood up straight and moved away from her. Calendre looked at him curiously, and he gave her a little wink before turning and throwing himself from the roof. The girl rolled her eyes, but followed after him. She arched into a graceful swan dive before softly landing in a cart of hay. When she pulled herself from the hay and had mostly shook herself off, her eyes wandered a bit before landing on the target again. She didn't bother looking for Lupo, as she really didn't care where the man had wandered off to. He would usually watch from afar when she was making a kill. She began to stroll leisurely over to the cluster of crates that Moretti's voice was booming from.

Apparently, the merchant had refused any trade with the templars. That in itself had turned the men-on-top bright red, but when an informant had given them a tip about the man selling to a group of assassins, they'd decided they wanted him gone. So, they'd given The Prowler and his little student the job of taking him out and sending a message to the enemy. The Prowler had decided this was the perfect chance to let his little student prove to him her advancement. So, here she was, stalking towards his thrown-together display. Hmm... she thought wistfully. Poison. Definitely Poison. It was far more of an interesting show than the blade was. She stood and pretended to admire the trinkets he had laid out for only a few moments before turning his way to walk away. As she brushed past him, her blade slid into the flesh of his torso. He flinched at the small cut and she continued to stroll away casually, and took her place on a bench to enjoy the show that promised to unfold.

"Poison, hm," a man that had settled next to her mused. She looked at him with grinning eyes, and found that his expression matched her's, except he was focused on the dazed man about 10 meters away.

At first Moretti's eyes just glazed over, and a fog of confusion passed over his face. Then he stumbled back a few steps, as though he had lost his balance and a dirty, calloused hand flew to his head. Then his expression of confusion crunched into one of pain and fury. His limbs started to fly, fighting unseen attackers and citizens were gathered around, all looking either fearful, curious, or both. Moretti was now flailing quite viciously and his stumbling made Calendre believe he would hit the ground any second, but he was still a hurricane of clumsy jabs and punches. Then, as though a switch were hit, the man fell; still flailing slightly. As soon as he hit the ground, he was completely gone. The crowd cleared rather slowly; everyone whispering to each other with large eyes.

"We should clear out before anyone suspects anything." Il Lupo nodded to the guards that had begun to gather around Moretti's corpse. Calendre showed agreement simply by standing.


	2. Capitolo Due

"Did you hear about that man that was killed down by the docks earlier today?" Calendre shook her head, gazing at the shop owner curiously. "Apparently he went completely matto, then he just dropped! They think it was poison," he chattered. The girl had to carefully tie back her victorious grin. Once the man was done crafting the throwing knives, he gently placed them on a cloth in front of her. "Those will cost 50 florins each." She nodded and deposited the money on the counter in front of him before beginning to sheath them. Once all ten were slid into place on her belt, she strolled away to the rendezvous spot to meet Il Lupo. It was up on Santa Maria della Visitazione in the Dorsoduro District, so it wasn't too far. Once she reached the building, she began to flit up the side.

Calendre'd always been a skilled athlete, but she had to admit; her interests definitely lay in combat. She thought it to be beautiful. The way daggers hovered and twirled, the way swordsman seemed to dance together, drew her fascination. That had been the reason she'd chosen her "profession" in the first place. Combat was one of the places where she felt full confidence, even when she didn't entirely know what she was doing. She found herself capable of replicating the enemy's moves, likely from watching her father spar when she was a young child and attempting to mirror his movements with branches. This actually had gotten her father and her in quite a bit of trouble with her mother. Even so, her affection, an emotion she only truly held for three things in the world, only grew from there.

Once she was atop the building, she didn't have to search long before she spotted Il Lupo perched at the peak of the roof across from the tower. She crouched next to the wolf, and he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, then he stood and his arm flashed up to point at something a roof away. Her gaze shifted to where he was indicating and she saw a piece of parchment stuck to the side of the building with a scraggly looking arrow. It had an almost humourous picture of an assassin drawn on it. She pursed her lips to hold back a smirk but immediately understood, and waited for intructions.

"I want you to throw one of those knives and hit that target." She swallowed slightly, never having thrown a knife, but lightly slid one of the knives from her belt. Her brows creased slightly and she held the knife up at her shoulder and gave it her best shot. It shuddered over the gap in between the buildings, then clamoured to the tiling on the other side. It didn't even waver close to the poster. Calendre grimaced.

"Give me one of the knives," he ordered. She complied, and pulled one of the knives from her belt, carefully handing it to her teacher. He gripped her wrist in a quick movement, making her bare her teeth at him, and placed it, with a suprising delicacy, in her hand. "Now. Put you index finger here, and your middle finger here," he gently positioned her hand around the knife until he deemed it perfect. "That should balance it well. You've got the shoulder part right, but when you throw, it's more of a flick. Capisce?" She nodded. "Riprovare." She positioned the knife at her shoulder, and with a breath to steady her aim, she flicked the knife towards the target. This time, the knife was more akin to a sparrow. It flew through the air with steady accuracy, then, to her disappointment, clattered to the roof. Even so, Calendre couldn't help but feel a little prideful. Other than the fact that it landed short of the target, it had flown quite gracefully.

"Hm. Even I didn't catch on like that. I'm beginning to think I've got a little competition." She rolled her eyes at Il Lupo; his only response was a goofy grin. He probably got that stupid smile from not using it enough, she thought. He really only smiled for his own sadistic pleasure, and at her. Never did he really smile playfully, though she couldn't help but grin back at him because of his likeness to a puppy when he did smile. "Throw another one. Remember, the target isn't the roof, it's the poster, mio studente." She glared at him but they were both in teacher-student mode and to shoot attitude back would be inappropriate. .

This time, after she took aim, she snapped her wrist in a forceful move. The knife zipped through the air at a deadly speed and stuck in the wall at a slight angle. About five feet away from the poster. Her lips pulled down in an angry scowl. "Bene. You'll get better with practice." She stopped herself from giving him another agitated glare and slid the next knife from her belt. This time she took a few careful moments to perfectly aim it and when her hand snapped forward, it stuck in the wall, again with a slight angle, on the poster right below the assassin's picture. The slightest of grins ghosted onto her face. She turned to Il Lupo, who looked at her with disgust. "How is it that in five minutes you pick up on something that took me 2 years to perfect?" She shrugged. She'd pondered that herself. Though she had never found any kind of skill with high society, business, or dance as her mother had wished, she'd found herself to be extremely skilled in her father's and Il Lupo's line of work.

Lupo stepped about 7 feet down the other side of the roof, nearly to the edge, and nodded at three points on the peak of the roof: one about 8 steps back, one in the middle, and the last at the far end of the roof. "Start working your way back." He smirked smugly at her, and she just nodded obediently at him. She moved to the second spot, and took aim. The knife struck the poster, silent but deadly. Her eyes flicked to a heated Il Lupo. He always got touchy when people did things better than him, though she was vexed to admit: it didn't happen often. Il Lupo tended to be good at whatever he did, while her skills mostly lay in weaponry.

He nodded at her, with a scowl, to move to the middle of the roof. She did so, and snapped the knife at the poster. This time it hit about a foot away from the poster. She frowned slightly, then pulled another from her belt. This time she washed any pride away, knowing that pride was one of her poisons. She aimed carefully, and then sent it through the air to it's mark. It hit just an inch or two to the side of the parchment. Il Lupo gestured for her to move back and she did so. This was going to be tough. Very, very tough. She swallowed and glanced at the wolf before sliding another knife from her belt and preparing herself for the throw. With slow determination, she raised her hand to her shoulder and, narrowing her eyes, aimed scrupulously. As she started to snap her wrist forward, there was a bark to her left.

"Stronzo!" Her head snapped to the side as she threw the knife. There were two guards flying across the roofs towards them, but she quickly realized that wasn't the biggest problem on their plate.

"Me che cazzo, donnicciol? Figglio di puttana!" Lupo was howling and Calendre sprinted to him with saucers for eyes. The knife had stuck into the muscle directly above his knee and both his leg and his hands were covered in slick red liquid. The wolf was attempting to get himself up on his feet but from the way his face was twisted in torment, it wasn't going to happen any time soon. Not good. Not good at all, considering the guards were about a roof away.

"Hold on," she mouthed at the man. He snarled at her.

"Va' all'inferno," the wolf muttered, but he allowed her to drape his arm around her shoulders. Lupo wasn't exactly leaping at the offered help. She may be his lover and a terribly talented student but she was absolutely insane. However, taking into account that he couldn't even stand without excruciating pain flushing through his system, he was going to have to go along with whatever plan she was cracking. With a quick glance at the approaching guards, both of which were shouting viciously at them, Calendre took a deep breath before wrapping both of her strong arms around his waist and she hurled them both off the roof, sailing down into water below.

He only had half a second to catch a breath of air before they hit the cold water and the sounds of shouting guards were muted. He was shock still for a moment, but his student's desperate grasping and kicking beside him alerted him to the fact that he was clutching onto her and they were both sinking further and further from the surface. He immediately let go of her and, ignoring the throbbing pain that was now slightly subdued because of the cold of the water and shock of being thrown off the building, began kicking up to oxygen. At first it felt as though his kicking was doing nothing, and panic began to root itself, but he soon got to the surface and sucked in precious air. Then, he wheeled in the water to search for his pupil. He felt that panic begin to take hold again when he didn't see her immediately, but she was quickly right beside him, gasping just as he was. The girl jerked her head to the side, gesturing for him to follow, though through the gesture, he noted a look of agonized guilt on her face.

There were arrows whistling towards them and into the water around them, so The Prowler did not hesitate to follow her, both dodging the arrows as best they could.


	3. Capitolo Tre

Calendre sloshed from the water and up onto the cobblestone. Il Lupo sucked in a breath of air as he tried to pull himself out, and when his pupil noticed his pain, she moved to help him. He grudgingly accepted her offer. Once they were both on land, they collapsed in a slightly tangled mess of limbs for only a moment before Il Lupo let his head fall to the side, his nearly black hair, which was choppy from being cut with a dagger, falling across his forehead. He looked at Calendre with exasperation.

"You're a mad woman," he muttered. His pupil smirked at him before pulling herself to her feet and helping him stand. She circled an arm around Il Lupo's waist and he draped an arm over her shoulders before they started the long, agonizing walk home where Calendre would take care of his wound. He glanced at her, frowning. Why wasn't he angry? He was The Prowler. The wolf. He should be furious at the donna pazza, but for some unknown reason, he couldn't muster the animal instincts that usually showed themselves even when they were unwanted. Not that he wanted to be angry at her; he would never forgive himself if he were to instill that same terror in her as he saw in others' eyes when he made his presence known. The fear that he'd seen in her eyes only a year ago. The fear that he'd savoured.

Calendre looked at him curiously and he realized he'd been staring at her. Not that he particularly cared. He looked into her deep olive eyes. Those eyes were what drew him to her, what made him so deeply affectionate. There was intelligence, mischief, and curiosity; something he didn't often see in the wanton noble women he usually encountered. However, there was a spark of something else. Mystery. It was as though she always had something she wasn't telling you. Though the wolf had learned to read her quite well because of her missing voice, but there was still that secret that she always held. Even if she could scream to the world her every thought, there would forever be a secret hidden deep in her. An answer that he knew, deep down, he would never have.

Then, his eyes traveled down to the scar. When she understood what he was looking at, she turned away and focused on her steps, swallowing in her discomfort. He was told she was to be punished at his and The Doctor's hands. At the time, he had no connection to her. In his mind, she was simply a young thief that had somehow wronged his superiors. In fact, Cesare had given her to them as a sadistic reward. He told them to make sure she never spoke again. Truly, it was The Doctor's genius idea to rip out her vocal cords, and Il Lupo had only pinned her down and laughed cruelly in her face, using his dagger to carve his mark into her skin, as she screeched her fury and lashed around beneath him. The only thing he had questioned at the time, and did so with a chuckle, was what a 19 year old girl could have possibly done to a group so prominent as the Templars. Now that he was thinking over the whole thing, he realized she'd never actually told him what she'd done.

He pondered over this for a few more moments before he recognized how close they were to the inn they were staying at. The two templars were in Venice because Il Lupo had some business to attend to, and he despised being away from Calendre so he excused her presence as a necessity to continue her training. She was no longer the burden or punishment she was meant to be. That, and they both got antsy without the physical contact they had become addicted to. They certainly didn't get it from anyone else. It also made him nervous not to have her by his side, though he would never admit it aloud. Besides, he knew she was perfectly capable most of the time. He guessed that it was only his acute, protective instincts towards the girl, but that didn't mean he could push away the angst.

Calendre pushed open the heavy door with a little huff, as she was supporting Il Lupo as well, and as soon as the plump, little woman running the inn saw the two of them, she let out a little squall and tottered over. Il Lupo snarled at the woman and sent her a vicious glare, and at that, Calendre hissed quietly at the wolf, thumped him in the side, then smiled apologetically at the now huffy woman. Calendre continued to drag the fuming, injured wolf down the hall to their shared room. As soon as they entered, she gently eased him into the nearest chair, the wolf's face contorting with pain as she did so. He was starting to feel a bit tired and dizzy, likely from the blood loss he hadn't taken full notice of before. Immediately, Calendre began a search for some medical supplies.

"That ignorant stronza dares think I would need her assistance," Il Lupo muttered as he adjusted himself in his spot, cringing at his knee. Calendre stopped her search and pirouetted to face The Prowler. She gripped his chin and forced him to look at her.

"Do not speak of that kind woman in that way," she mouthed silently and slowly at him. The wolf only looked at her in shock. She had never stood up to him in such a confrontational way. Then he swallowed when he recognized the look in her eyes. That had been a threat. She was getting bolder everyday. He couldn't help it when a smirk ghosted across his lips as she turned away. The little templar continued to gather a few more things before flitting back to Il Lupo and kneeling down in front of him to set to work. She tenderly placed a hand on the underside of his thigh to provide support as her other hand moved softly under his calf, and she gently lifted his leg to rest on her own so she could have better access to the wound. Even though the movement sent white pain rocking through his system, he still shuddered a little at that lovely touch he had fallen in love with.

Calendre carefully pulled the fabric of his trousers away from the wrecked skin and scrutinized the wound. It looked like Lupo had managed to work the knife part way out of the muscle from the swimming and walking. She felt a pang of guilt. It was sticking out, and although that was a good thing and she knew it would come out fairly easily, it still looked beastly and she could see it in The Prowler's nauseated expression. Red life was oozing from around the knife and the skin around it was beginning to turn slightly purple. She sent him an apologetic glance before taking a deep, nervous breath, gripping it with three fingers, and ripping it out. A howl ripped from the wolf's lips, his face blanched, and his grip on the arm of the chair tightened to the point at which Calendre thought he might break the innocent piece of furniture. After he got a hold of himself, he shot his apprentice a murderous glare, gasping a little erratically.

"Che minchia, Calendre!" He rasped at her. She frowned at him with penitent eyes, and his glare softened. "A little warning next time." She nodded, and her hand dipped to retrieve a flask she'd gathered with the rest of the supplies. Il Lupo gratefully accepted it and, tilting his head back, took a long swig. The girl kneeling in front of him found her eyes wandering to the way his throat moved as he swallowed. She snapped out of the strange trance when he let the flask fall away from his lips with a groan. She then plucked up a wet cloth and began dabbing away at the wound gingerly, feeling him tense beneath her hand as she did so. He didn't offer any kind of objection. He just kept his head rested back, his chest falling and rising rhythmically.

As soon as she got most of the excess blood wiped away, she threaded a needle, and began the meticulous process of closing the wound. She gently held his leg just underneath the wound, her head bowed enough to see exactly what she was doing, and began carefully stitching the skin together. When she was done, she wrapped his thigh up, and let out a little sigh as she helped him up from the chair so they could stagger over to a more comfortable spot on the bed. After Il Lupo slowly lowered himself down onto the mattress with a quiet grunt, he reached up and pulled his apprentice down. She was cautious of his leg as she curled up next to him and nuzzled into his warm neck. With a loving smile, she realized her wolf had fallen asleep as soon as she'd curled up and the softest of snores was breaching his lips. Soon, in complete bliss, she followed right behind him into the world of dreams. Tomorrow she would worry about breakfast, their trip home, and Il Lupo's wound. Tonight she would take shelter from concern in The Prowler's arms and together they could savour happy loneliness.


	4. Capitolo Quattro

She could hear her heart pounding adrenaline-saturated blood through her system. The desperate pattering of her leather boots on the street filled her ears as she clutched the little bundle of blankets to her chest and propelled herself, with tears in her eyes, to move even faster. The clanging of metal armor and the angry shouts of the army behind her only kept pressing the importance of the package in her arms. She couldn't place what it was, but she did know that it was to be kept safe at all costs, and that she was willing and ready to pay the bulkiest price of all to achieve that safety.

She could feel them getting closer to her, and even though her every fiber was aflame with the fiery pain of exhaustion, she pushed herself even harder. At the rate this was going, they wouldn't even have to unsheathe their swords before she dropped dead in the street. Her heart was fluttering like a humming bird's wings in her heaving chest and she almost began to sob for joy at the sight before her. The countryside was not 4 buildings away.

Escape was nearing. However, so were the Templar soldiers.

She could hear the disgusting insults they were bellowing after her, and the words only caused her already steely resolve to strengthen.

"Halt, puttana!"

"Cagne!"

"Baldracca!"

She was almost there.

She could taste safety. Assurance.

Her eyes were blurred from the rush of air that made her clothing billow out around her.

Safety.

Safety.

So close. So damn close.

She felt dread rip her heart from her aching throat as she watched her feet fly out from beneath her, not even caring that her breathing had been momentarily cut off as she clutched the precious, precious package to her chest to prevent from dropping it. A soldier had wrenched his hand into her hood and yanked her back.

A whisper. "Got you."

Then, she felt her wrathful instincts kick in. She coiled around in his grip and sent as powerful a kick as her tired legs could muster directly to where it mattered most and started to sprint towards that beautiful sanctuary, but to her devastation, she was caught by her dishevelled hair by another.

Mierda!

MIERDA!

She felt her world melt away and found herself capable of only desperate sobbing and wailing as she twisted and thrashed.

Then, she felt the center of her universe, the purpose of her life, disappear from her arms. Her eyes snapped open and she could only roar as it was torn away.

Then, she froze.

A corner of the fabric fell away, revealing the most beautiful, little face she had ever seen, crunched up in tears. The only sound pervading her ears was his dismayed keening.

She could not move. She could not feel.

And her soul was being laid out on the cold stone 5 yards away. She could only watch with the darkest agony she had ever felt before as one of the Templars positioned an axe above the sputtering bundle that was her core.

A choked and utterly anguished howl cracked through the city.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Calendre shot up in bed, her dark hair clinging damply to her olive-toned, sweat-glistening face, neck and shoulders. Her entire body was shaking with little convulsive shudders, and her lungs seemed to be completely out of her control as her breath came in broken gasps and heaves. Her quavering olive orbs lowered down to her stomach, where her shivering hand was clutched fiercely.

Holy shit. What the hell was that? Did that mean...

... No.

Was she...?

She...?

S-she was...

Oh shit.


	5. Capitolo Cinque

Peace.

Rest.

Bliss.

The only sounds in this beautiful sanctuary were the breeze, the munching sounds of his dappled mare snacking on some grass, and the soft ruffle of her clothing behind him. He breathed in the delicious smell of earth and salt water that caressed both of them atop his fine, leather saddle. She was sleeping, her arms wrapped around his waist in a soft embrace and her lovely cheek pressed into his back. He turned his head slightly, careful not to awaken the resting girl rudely.

"Calendre," he murmured softly. She stirred behind him slightly, muttering incomprehensively in her sleep.

"Wake up, piccola colomba," he said, with a little nudge to her thigh, which was rested against his.

"Vaffanculo." At first a bit shocked at such a serrated word in this beautiful little world of his, he scoffed, though a grin quickly grew on his face. She was perfect. Despite the protest, she raised her head, hair slightly dishevelled, and rested her chin on his shoulder with a little yawn, squeezing his midsection lovingly before cocking her head slightly to place a small kiss on his jaw.

"Good morning," he whispered as he turned slightly, though a bit awkwardly, to meet her lips. Then, he froze. Did she just speak? The girl frowned at him as his widened eyes locked on her face.

"What's wrong?" He felt her body tense next to him as she spoke, as though preparing for attack. He swallowed back his shock and pushed away the mixed emotions stirring within him, giving her his most sincere smile. He couldn't help be disappointed that this beautiful moment was only a dream. Oh well. Might as well enjoy the peace of mind.

"Nothing, mio tesoro." She hummed in response as her hands began trailing up beneath his shirt, massaging his lower back with skilled hands. It was then that he noted that he was not in his usual attire, only some plain trousers and a soft cotton shirt that caressed his skin almost as well as his little student could. Almost. Suddenly, at the touch of her warm hands against his lightly tanned skin, he felt a surge of heat within him. A shaky little sigh escaped his lips at this sudden overwhelming feeling of lust. He gripped her thigh, lifting her leg so that it was rested over his and between his calf and the horse. He felt her hands leave his back and wrap around his shoulders in fright, for he nearly pulled her off the saddle in doing so. Taking the opportunity to catch her arm, he snagged her wrist, pulling her so that her legs were wrapped around his waist and his arm was wrapped around her for support.

He murmured a rough, "Hold on, I've got you" before he heaved her back to the safety of the saddle so that she faced him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her breathing excited.

"What-" he cut off her protests with his lips, arms twisting around his student to assure that she, though less than fragile, did not fall from the horse. His student quickly responded, her fluid form pressing against him in a way that drove his thoughts to a place he was always taught to never let them go. Her supple lips left his, and before he could grouse, they were at his neck. He felt her smirk into the sensitive skin before she bit down. Hard. He let out a hoarse pant and only felt himself harden further at the sudden painful stimulation. A small amount of blood dribbled from the wound, and before he could truly recognize the pain hidden behind the pleasure, she soothed it with her velvet tongue.

"Calendre, dio," he breathed craggedly, his calloused fingers digging into her back. Her practiced hands were under his shirt again, pressing and kneading. He let out a sound akin to a growl, though far closer to a moan, as he let his head roll back and his hands shift to cup her shapely bottom, her adept mouth working beautiful wonders at his collar bone, neck, and jaw. Her hands were gliding closer and close to the danger zone, and they both shifted slightly in the saddle to allow access. Her fingers now picked at the hem of his trousers playfully as her mouth moved back to meet his, and he tangled his hands a bit roughly into her dark hair as he kissed back with passionate desperation.

"Do you want me to touch you, Maestro?" The girl growled against his lips, slightly muffled as he had refused her the ability to pull away. His only response was a snarl grated through his teeth. This was definitely a dream, for his real apprentice would have teased him much longer and driven him completely mad to the point where he simply took what he wanted. She held her hand up to his face, raising a brow at him expectantly and he glared at her, but tilted his head to spit into her palm. She grinned mischievously as her hand dove into his trousers and brushed his manhood tauntingly, dragging the pad of her finger up it, before gently gripping him entirely and starting to pump him at an excruciatingly slow pace. He snarled raspily at his student, whom was torturing him and with a little quirk of her lips, she quickened her pace. Once he was fully hardened, he reached down and snatched her hand away. She looked at him with a bit of astonishment on her elegant face, but he ignored the look and began pulling at the fabric covering the supple, delicious thighs that were currently wrapped around him.

He couldn't help but think how lucky he was to have this vivacious woman at his side.

At once, she began struggling out of them, removing her arms from the wolf and bracing herself on the horn of the saddle as she leaned backwards to help him get the bothersome clothing off of her legs. Once her trousers were off, he pulled her back to him, and the girl wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pressing her forehead against his and looking him directly in the eye as he prepared to push her down onto him. His hands caused her shirt to ride up slightly, the smooth, soft plane of her lower stomach becoming exposed to the air around them, though he suspected it wouldn't be a problem. Their... activities would quickly warm the both of them. Plus, sadly, this little moment of free time, of peace, was only a dream, so the cold was fairly nonexistent. She kept her eyes locked onto his, even as he thrust her down onto him again and again, using the stirrups to create some kind of momentum. With fascination, hunger, and love in his eyes he watched her sweet green eyes flare, scrunch up and widen, and plead at his movements. But there was something else.

There was something there that he'd never really noticed before in his dreams of Calendre before now. Something that he quickly realized he saw every day mixed with the intelligence and mystery in the real Calendre's eyes. There was a beautiful spark there. Something that made him realize the true extent of his good fortune, of his love. It was intense, undying loyalty. Trust. He swallowed heavily. Part of his mind strained at the thought that this girl, whom he'd stolen so much away from and hurt so severly in body and soul, could trust him in the way her eyes spoke of.

"I love you..." he whispered to her.

Her lovely sigh broke into silence, and the light of the outdoors scene faded into darkness. The wolf's eyes fluttered open, and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach, the need to tell the true Calendre these words he so deeply meant overwhelming him. He turned carefully, fearful of tearing open his wound (which he'd almost forgotten about), as well as suddenly aware of his embarrassing problem, and his hand stretched out to stir the girl slumbering next to him.

Then, his stomach lurched so violently he thought he might vomit right there.

His hand landed only on cool fabric.

He gulped, dread filling him venomously. She was only up getting something to drink. Right? He knew he was lying to himself; the bed would have still been warm if she'd only left for a moment. He staggered from the bed and to where she had left what little she carried with her on their trips, feeling what could not, could not be tears forming in his eyes. The only thing he could picture was her- hurt somewhere. Alone, terrified. He knew she was strong, but he couldn't bear the images grating through his mind at the revelation of her absence. Part of him had expected his superiors to take her away but he wouldn't allow such a thing.

Fiora. He needed to find Fiora.


	6. Capitolo Sei

She felt like she was choking, like she couldn't breathe and no matter how hard she tried she could not find air. Her hands were shaking, trembling with her resolve. She sent an agonized look towards the beautiful man softly slumbering on the bed. She needed to leave. As much as she despised the thought, fleeing was her only option. She had been warned. So had he.

She began fastening on her robes with quavering fingers (resulting in a haphazard look) and gathered all of her things in a dishevelled hurry: a small journal with a feather pen and ink pot, a little flask that usually only contained water, an intricate, bone hair brush she'd received from her mother long ago, extra trousers and a shirt, along with a pair of soft, leather shoes, and some ties she used to pull back her hair, and she put them all in the leather sack she'd had for... well. She didn't really know how long she'd had the thing, but it had been a while.

She stood in front of the mirror as she wrapped her red sash (used to cover her nasty scar) around her neck, holding her brunette curls up as she did so. The girl she saw in this reflection was not Calendre. No. The girl she saw had big, olive eyes full of terror and remorse, framed with the darkness that was earned by weariness. This stranger's skin glistened with sweat and was shivering violently. This girl was not strong, graceful, dangerous, and defiant. No, she was weak, fatigued, and terrified. She hated this girl because she was everything Calendre was not. This was the girl she loathed and had hoped was gone forever, though she was now realizing she'd never left.

She straightened her hood down over her face and scowled, though it morphed into something closer to a grimace. She slung her bag over her shoulder and looked at Il Lupo one more time before she silently slid out the window. She didn't want the old woman to see her and be able to direct the wolf to her. Once she dropped to the cobblestone below, she harshly wiped away the tears forming in her eyes and rested a hand on her stomach, looking down at it and pressing her lips into a hard line as she let a shaking breath out through her nose.

The night was so calm: it was almost mocking. She began to rush down the narrow street, though she had no true destination. It was only the singular thought that her child was in danger that drove her. Calendre had no doubt that Il Lupo had loved her, but a child? She could not even imagine him raising a child. The little one was a product of her direct disobedience, as well as his. If she didn't disappear they would both be killed. And he was a killer. She could not risk him discovering her origins and destroying the life that now grew inside her. She grew up learning the harsh lessons of life, and she'd learned enough to know that this child was her responsibility. What she'd done was not it's fault, it was her own doing, bringing the child into this twisted world. So, now it was her duty to protect it.

There was no other option.

Once she hit the main street, she began trotting for the stables, leather shoes scuffing against the stone quietly as she was being slightly lazy in her step. Il Lupo was almost definitely not going to wake up for hours; his body was healing, therefore it needed to rest. It was at this thought that Calendre felt a pang of guilt. She'd stabbed him in the knee then up and left her crippled lover. He wouldn't understand even if she stayed. He'd want to be rid of the child, for her safety and his. But that was not something she could do, nor could she risk his life by asking him to run.

She crept into the dark stables with half-hearted stealth, as her thoughts were whirring and she was distracted. She soothed a gloved hand across an auburn stallion as she moved around it, being sure not to startle the creature, and stopped a moment to look into its warm, curious eyes. A tear, which the girl had not noticed forming, jumped down her cheek. The stallion softly nudged her hand, which rested on its nose, and let out a gusty snort. Calendre smiled. Such gentle, lovely beasts, horses were.

The girl clucked at the stallion comfortingly as she mounted him, and once positioned in the saddle, her heels squeezed gently into his sides and she guided him out softly by the reins

She was just riding, the beautiful stallion's steady gallop carrying her further and further from the sleeping wolf behind her. She couldn't go back to her brothers and sisters, not after she'd shattered any kind of rights she had to their trust, but she needed protection for this child. She was not going to let the little one re-live Calendre's life, even if it meant death for her own being. She could just leave Italy and find some minuscule, mountain-top village and assimilate into the ranks of the farmers, raising her child in a world free of...

No. She could not lie to herself. If the child was anything like her, it would leave and enter this world anyway, without any knowledge or preparation. Besides, she was fairly sure the silence of a mountain would kill her, quite literally. She found herself tortured by the absence of life, people, even though it was people who carried the disease of corruption, and the loss of her voice and only amplified her fear of silence.

She swallowed, the salt water tears that stained her dresden skin causing the sharp breeze to bite at her face cruelly. Maybe it truly was time to go back. She would tell Machiavelli everything and pray that he felt mercy, that he understood her story. If she was rejected, she would run to Cairo, maybe. Possibly Moscow. Settle there and dig up a good living and grant her child as wonderful a life as she could. All she knew was that she would never leave the little one without someone to love it. She was resolute in the fact that even if it could not be herself, some one would guard and love the little one. She would not allow anything otherwise.

Yes. There was no choice. She had to go to Machiavelli. She squeezed the horse's sides with her heels again and leaned forward in the saddle, urging the stallion to go faster.

...

They had entered part of rural Rome now after a very long ride and the pounding of the horse's hooves into the dirt road was kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Calendre's hood had long flown off and was fluttering back along with her wild curls, and her cheeks had become tinted with pink because of the windy chill. Her breath was coming heavy from adrenaline. She'd always loved the exhilarating speed of a good ride. Then, she swallowed. The last time she'd ridden like this was in Tuscany. With Il Lupo. Her throat caught and she immediately pushed away the thought, for it brought a stabbing pain to her heart.

She pulled back on the reins when the dirt road began to change into stone. She was entering the city. It was fairly quiet, as it was quite early in the morning; there were a few people and a couple guards wandering in the streets, but everyone mostly kept to themselves. She definitely recognized her surroundings, though she hadn't actually been back here for a while. She dismounted the weary stallion and guided it to the nearest stable as she scanned slightly for her target. When she spotted it, she pulled her hood up and began strolling up some steps towards it, not putting a lot of meaning in her gait through pure habit of keeping under the radar. When she hit the inconspicuous doorway she stopped, looking at it apprehensively.

Did they even know what she'd done, how she'd betrayed them? One of her hands, of its own accord, lifted and began gently moving over the tell-tale design carved intricately into the structure. She didn't really have a right to be here after her betrayal. She didn't even consider herself an Assassin anymore, though she didn't consider herself a Templar, either. She didn't know what she was anymore.

Calendre swallowed heavily, then was reminded of the reason she was standing before this building. She blinked heavily and took a deep breath as she pushed open the door. She was greeted by marble steps and luxurious red fabric, a place full of nobility that almost made her turn around and leave. It was fairly quiet, though she knew that the sanctuary was populated. She moved down the steps and into a fairly large room that was just as quiet as the rest of the place. There didn't seem to be anyone here, and she shuffled forward slightly, her breathing shaky and nervous.

"Calendre?"

The girl froze, her erratic breathing stopping completely.

She turned, slowly. First only her head, then the rest of her body followed. Her mouth fell open slightly and she blinked at the woman-assassin that stood in front of her, whose spine was straight and confident, hood back to show lips parted and eyes wide with shock. Calendre started to speak, but she remembered she could not summon words any longer. Then, silvery tears began to spill over her lids and they just kept coming. She swallowed, trying to force away her weakness, but she couldn't. She silently choked, and her body closed in on itself.

"Calendre!" The woman rushed towards her, catching the falling girl in outstretched arms. "Che diavolo! Are you hurt?"

She only turned her head away in shame, struggling away from her former comrade's arms. Once she was out of the woman's arms, she looked her straight in the eye, attempting to recover her posture, though the tears were still coming. She took a deep, shaken breath.

'Machiavelli,' she mouthed, and hoped the alarmed woman would comprehend what she was attempting to communicate. To Calendre's relief, the woman nodded curtly. The still-teary-eyed girl stood slowly, and took the assassin's abrupt whirl around as a sign to follow, doing so with trembling legs.


	7. Capitolo Sette

She was led hurriedly down one of the marble halls, and into a study that held antique furniture, old (maybe ancient) books on sets of bookshelves that hugged every wall, and a very startled looking Machiavelli. Calendre stepped forward, setting her posture in a way that made her reddened eyes the only evidence of her previous break down. Machiavelli continued to just look her up and down with a shocked look on his face. She swallowed nervously, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she gave a small, purely respectful bow to her elder.

"Eleonora, please leave us." The 20 year old assassin behind her took leave and Machiavelli stood leaning forward and placing his hands on his desk. Calendre just watched, knowing he was working out something to say to her. "What happened to your mission?" He finally spoke a bit sharply. Her mouth popped open uselessly and when he looked at her expectantly, she looked away, ashamed of her silence.

"Speak, girl." He was starting to become aggravated, and Calendre immediately knew hesitation was not an option. She reached up and pushed back her hood, ignoring how dishevelled her hair was, then began to unwrap the red silk from around her neck. When the sash, which she recalled with a mourning heart was the one Il Lupo had bought her to replace that old, craggly one she'd had before, fell across her arms, his eyes widened at the scar. Understanding seemed to flood into his expression when she gestured helplessly and a bit vaguely that she could not speak, but confusion also took place.

"They... that's an old wound..." he trailed off with furrowed brows. "Is that why you stopped corresponding with us? Have you just escaped them? It's been so long; I'd assumed you were dead when we received news of Gianpiero. You do not look harmed beyond your throat..." Slowly, she began to shake her head 'no.' The confused fog over his slightly worn face grew thicker, then a spark lit his eyes and he began searching in his desk for something. She watched a bit curiously and when he slapped a fresh piece of parchment down in front of her and held out a quill and little jar of ink, she immediately knew what he was doing.

"Everything. I want to know everything," he spoke slowly for emphasis. Calendre nodded, stomach tightening just a little. She pulled up a simple, wooden chair and sat down across from him, starting at the paper immediately. The girl could feel his eyes on her writing, but it did not touble her as much as it usually might. She began spilling her story down onto the paper in chaotic, swirling handwriting. She started at the very beginning, from the day She'd foolishly doomed her voice by way of irritating Cesare.

"She certainly has... potential." The man, whom was known quite well among the Brotherhood as Cesare Borgia said, shifting on his feet. I rose up from my bow and turned slightly away from him as my lungs calmed, taking long, deep breaths and noting the pain fluttering in the gash I'd recieved in my side. I didn't truly feel much guilt for the guards that lay wounded behind me. They had certainly been skilled, but I was smaller. And faster. I was also pretty sure they were striking to kill. The other man, whom I knew as our inside man, Gianpiero, an older man in his mid-thirties with a bit of scruff and a royal air, the one who's goal was to put me in the trust of the Templars, nodded.

"With more thorough training she could be a very valuable weapon," he suggested, boredom hanging off his words despite himself.

"Ragazza," the Borgia nodded at me and I looked at him, trying to maintain an expressionless face though, being young and fairly inexperienced, there was a small twist of annoyance that he was thankfully too caught up in himself and Gianpiero to notice.

"Ci?" I responded politely.

"Your name." He spat it at me rudely, like a command, and I had to swallow back my anger. I still couldn't control my goddamned temper.

"Calendre. Calendre Foti." He sneered at me, his lips twisting disgustingly. I bit down on the rain of insults threatening to fall off my tongue.

"A lovely name." This guy was screwy. He looked at Gianpiero. "She will join us at dinner tonight, so her value can be assessed. Have one of the maids prepare her." Gianpiero nodded, looking completely unaffected as Cesare strolled away. I just gawked at the advisor with disbelief. A soon as Cesare disappeared, Gianpiero's face fell and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. His entire posture stiffened into a strained hunch, and I actually felt a bit better, for at his indifference I'd been sure he wasn't going to care much for what happened at the dinner.

"Is he implying what I think he is?" I asked Gianpiero, fuming a little.

"You have to compare him to a child. He believes he can have whatever he wants and doesn't hesitate to take it," he said it in an explanatory fashion and my scowl only grew deeper as he spoke.

"I'm not going." The statement was curt and I straightened my posture.

"That's a foolish thing to do, child," he snapped at me. "You will never assimilate into his trusted circle if you simply refuse him."

I raised my brow at the atrocious suggestion that I actually just give myself to the disgusting idiota.

"The thing we need to do is persuade him that he would much prefer someone else. Draw his interest away." I chewed my tongue a little in thought. He was right. I couldn't outright turn him down, for he'd be enraged and I'd endanger the welfare of the mission. I thought for a moment.

"Tell me, what does the great Cesare Borgia appreciate in a woman?" I was grinning mischievously at my ally, and he smirked back at me.

(4 Hours Later)

"That man is disgusting. He simply expects me to fall into his bed! I nearly killed seven of his most skilled guards and he just sees me as a new whore to be fucked. !" I immediately stopped my fit and looked at the little maid who quietly continued working on my nails. "I'm sorry, bambina." She looked at me with a sad little smile and shrugged, finishing off my nails and picking out a brush from an intricate little jar on the bureau.

"I prefer my natural skin, please," I informed the young maid with a frown when she attempted the application of powdered pigments to my face. She nodded quickly and I watched as she fumbled with the little container to put it away. Once she had put away the makeup, I spoke to her again.

"If you don't mind, where were you born?" This time my voice was softer and held a tone of curiosity. She was a pretty, sad, little thing. Maybe 10 or 11, definitely foreign. Her skin was much darker than mine, a beautiful hazelnut, and her ebon hair was french-braided down her back. She looked at me with wide eyes.

"A-arabia," she muttered. I smiled sadly at her.

"This may sound strange but I... well, just hold in there. Promise?" She nodded. "Don't let go of your home. You may not see it for a long, long time, but it's not going anywhere, and if you want it enough, you'll go back one day." A tiny tear formed in her eye.

"You don't know that," she murmured her bottom lip pushing out in a pout. Though she was quiet, I could still hear the accent in her voice. "It's too far away."

"Nothing is out of your reach, bambina." I gave her a sly smile and she grinned the tiniest bit back at me as she wiped away the water in her eyes. "Now, does messer Borgia enjoy long hair on a woman?" She nodded.

"Most of the ladies I meet have long hair like yours." She beamed at me. I nodded thoughtfully and stood, lifting the plain fabric of the dress I'd chosen up over my leg. She looked at me curiously, though the curiosity dissipated into wide-eyed panic when I pulled a dagger from an otherwise innocent looking garter.

She stayed still and silent, however, as I moved to the mirror and without hesitation began cutting away at my locks. Soon, the long tresses that used to hang half-way down my back were all over the floor and my dress, and the remnants of it now floated in a choppy manner at about 2 inches below my chin.

I beamed at the little maid who looked shocked, but also, to my amusement, slightly excited. "I think I'm going to need a new dress," I said, looking down at the white, sheer and satin dress that was more like a slip, now covered in dark, discarded hair. She giggled and flitted away with a little nod.

I hummed a little tune I acutely remembered hearing in a market place somewhere south by the Mediterranean. It was a strange tune, the notes lilting and crooning even if one did not make an effort to make them that way. They sang of some, mysterious, lovely thing that I could taste in the music, though I would never be able to place exactly what it was the song was actually singing of. I sighed. Someday. Someday I would figure it out.

The little one skipped back in, cradling a lovely, blue dress that hit my eyes sourly. Blue was a color of innocence, and I was certainly not innocent. Well, I was. In a sense. I still held my virginity, but my hands were stained a deep red that clashed with the baby blue of the floaty dress she held. However, I couldn't help but recognize how perfect it was in that stark contrast. Gianpiero had said Cesare liked experienced men's women, so I would be naive, sharp, and intimidating.

In the end of this, Cesare Borgia would see me for what I was: a weapon. An efficient killer; a blade. Not a wanton whore to be toyed with and used.

Signore Borgia, you should know. Children should never play with knives.


	8. Capitolo Otto

The wolf had never imagined he would be able to move this fast. His instincts had flooded in, practically drowning out the rational thought in his head that he was likely screwing up his knee for good. His gray cape was drawn out behind him, moving as though it were apart of him as he flew across rooftops, and though he knew he should be feeling intense pain right now, he was not. All he felt was desperation.

His breath was coming short and fast, in rhythm with the methodical padpadpad-thump of his running and leaping. He wasn't exactly as... graceful as he was before he took a knife to the knee, but considering the whole accident had happened just the day before he was pretty damned agile.

He wasn't entirely sure where he would find Fiora, but he would find her. That much he knew. He automatically deduced that she would be the one to have the answers he needed. Fiora had strongly disapproved of his and Calendre's attachment. She'd threatened to separate them if Il Lupo continued his 'unsavoury' activities. He'd had no choice but to lie to his mentor. He wouldn't doubt for a second if Fiora had found out and instructed his student to disappear; it certainly wasn't something unknown to the templar courtesan.

He didn't put any second thought into plunging his switchblade into the abdomen of any guard that dared try to halt him. One had actually managed to aim his crossbow at the Prowler, but the guard was knocked off the roof before he could do anything. The other guard patrolling the roof started to bring his sword down onto Il Lupo but the wolf kicked the man's feet out from under him and snagged the sword from the guard's hands, plunging the blade into his throat all in a single, fluid movement. His hands were stained crimson by the time he hit the ground behind the Courtesan with a soft noise that only trained ears would pick up. He'd seen her and ended up trailing her half way around town, waiting for the perfect moment that he'd have her cornered and out of sight of the public, so that he could confront her without holding anything back. She turned slightly, clearly recognizing the dull scuff.

"Mio Lupo," she greeted him with a cool air,, her voice poisoned with that infamous seduction. The Prowler did not hesitate to slam up against her, trapping her on the wall and without a doubt staining her clothing with the blood of fallen guards.

"Where. Is. She." The words came out serrated and rough, like a growl from the depths of his throat. His eyes were wild and searching. His blade was not yet at her throat, but it would be soon if she did not talk. She looked slightly confused, and more than slightly annoyed at the treatment.

"Who, exactly, are you referring to?" There was an irritating, bored drawl on her words. He slammed her back into the stone again. Now he could see concealed anger forming on her pretty, though otherwise expressionless features.

"You know exactly who I'm referring to," he spat venomously at her. He shouldn't have been so acidic with her, true, but he had bigger things, more important people (or should he say, 'a more important person?') to worry about. She gave him a strange look, before revelation brightened her expression.

"The girl? Why would I be babysitting your studente?" She asked him, her nose wrinkling. He snarled and his hand flew up to slap that pretty face, but it was halted mid-air, and Fiora spun them around, her fan flashing out and getting dangerously near his throat. Now he was the one against the wall, looking at the angry woman with shocked eyes. "Contain yourself," she hissed at him. She pulled back roughly, her eyes still on him, narrowed and filled with cold calculation in place of the usual feminine charm.

"You're not still with her, are you? Do you not remember what I told you?" The wolf shook his head, the fury leaving his body in a slump. The courtesan realized quickly just how tired he looked, as well as the slight limp he held.

"Doesn't matter." He said in a low tone, looking at her from under his grey hood as he began a slow pace. "She's gone. Somewhere, I don't know where. But she was my responsibility, and I need to know where she is, if she's okay, even if you aren't going to give her back." Fiora was watching him pace, his limp becoming progressively more prominent. The wolf was usually so strong and precise; from the day she'd collected him off the streets he'd had a primal confidence about him that made his movements naturally graceful and purposeful. But now he was slumped and exhausted, and his limbs looked like they were clumsy and disjointed from his body, whereas he usually moved with such fluidity, as though everything about him were one and he was in complete control. She felt a sudden curiosity and, though she would never admit it, a tinge of jealousy at how this girl had been capable of rendering a killer such as Il Lupo so weak

"I don't have her," she said, a bit of pity in her eyes. At this he tensed and was quiet for a moment. Then, he turned and looked at her.

"I don't believe you." His voice was quiet, but he was staring unwaveringly into her eyes. It was unnerving. Fiora's hand twitched over her fan. He'd challenged her before, of course. It was in a wolf's nature, after all. But this... She'd never actually felt fear around him until now. Though, she'd also never truly had reason to fear him. She was always the one behind him, wielding him against others, but now she was under direct threat from the weapon she herself had created.

"I'm not asking you to believe me, but I don't know where she is." Il Lupo tipped his head away slightly as she spoke. She blinked and directed her gaze down to his knee. "What did you do to yourself this time?" He looked momentarily confused before he caught on and shrugged her comment off.

Putting herself in fate's hands, she moved towards him, hoping he wasn't so unstable as to attack her. She felt her stomach un-knot in relief as he didn't attack when she approached. However, when she was about to bend and prod at his clearly injured knee, he grabbed her wrist roughly to stop her. She looked up at him with scolding eyes but he only stared back with warning and annoyance.

"She already took care of it. I'm going to go, if you have nothing else to say." Fiora felt slightly hurt, but pushed the feeling away. The wolf didn't wait any longer for her to speak and he darted into the street, disappearing into the crowd. He still had a nagging feeling that Fiora had something to do with Calendre's absence, but he knew fully well that he couldn't do anything further than what he'd already done to extract information without getting himself in trouble with both Fiora and Baltasar, and he had to know Calendre was safe before he went off and got himself killed. He knew Fiora was probably already angered at his brash behaviour, not that he cared much, for it wasn't to an extent that she'd do anything to render him useless to Calendre's rescue.

So, with a temporary dead end at Fiora, he would have to start a different investigation. There hadn't been any kind of trail to pick up on back at the Inn, so it was time to wander the town, eavesdrop and observe. Someone must of seen something, and the best place to start was with those who saw everything. Those who knew everyone. Those who had the skills and will to watch and observe, even if it was for simple enjoyment, though more typically for the rewards that knowledge and skill could reap.

The thieves.

He knew thieves were frequently hired around to collect information (or valuables) and he figured if anyone knew of Calendre's location, it would be the them. He could recall the location of a few of the meeting spots of allied clans, for he'd been forced to work with them before. Finding them would not be as huge an issue as actually getting them to talk, however. He knew with near certainty that any tips the thieves had would cost him what he guessed would be a fairly hefty price, but Il Lupo just so happened to have picked up some very useful skills during his childhood.

He continued to stroll down the streets, heading towards the wealthy district of the city. It wouldn't be much use to him to steal from the poor. He began straying a little too close to the well dressed citizens, his hands sliding quickly over their belts and very subtly liberating people of the weight of their purses (and even some jewellery when it was hanging loose enough) as he pushed by them with grunted apologies. He smirked whenever he heard an alarmed cry behind him, but he continued moving through the streets and plazas so that no one would pick up on his activities.

He continued this for a while, until his plunders started to grow into a burden, then he moved to a darker street to be unnoticed as he dug into the purses, syphoning as much as he could into his own purse, then using another to hold what wouldn't fit. He counted loosely 1500 florentines in worth, not including the jewellery. If it wasn't enough, he could always pitch in the 500 he already had on him. He emptied most of it into his own bag, gathering what wouldn't fit into one of the stolen purses, and he tied both purses to his belt. He didn't have any further time to utilize, so he kicked aside the extra purses and moved into the street. However, he noted that the pain in his knee was growing sharper and with time and comfort in mind, he sought stables, borrowing a horse to take across town to the biggest, allied guild he knew of.


	9. Capitolo Nove

"I don't understand," Machiavelli shook his head. "What is the maid's importance?"

Calendre stopped her writing and looked up at him with a scolding expression.

"Scusa." He nodded at the annoyed assassin. "Continue." She eyed him once more before continuing her scrawling.

I took a deep breath before entering the party. My instincts immediately began scratching at my nerves for attention, and I decided to only give them a small part of it. I couldn't be starting fights in the middle of a dinner crucial to my mission, but I did need to be fairly alert. I didn't trust these people. Even the women, who wore extravagant dresses and hair pieces and scrambled pathetically for the attention of the wealthy men, could be catty and held no trustworthiness. I still smiled at them, greeting them with as much curtesy as I could muster.

I dug through the surprisingly large crowd, inwardly gawking at the decor in the room. Beautiful satin cloth was draped around the outside edges of the ceiling and between pillars that were made of creamy stone, and elegantly dressed tables presented guests with different meats, breads, and sweets prepared in such a way that made them closer to art pieces than edible food. The tiled floors were gleaming and shiny and two large windows on the right side let in the golden, evening light. My eyes continued to stray around the room, and then I took note that the wealthy guests were not only occupying one room, but two, connected by a rather large doorway. I glanced around the first room one last time before deciding Gianpiero was probably in the second room. So, gently pushing through chattering and eating guests, I wandered through the grand doors and immediately began scanning the larger room. When my eyes landed on him, dressed in intricate red robes and standing with his usual indifferent pride, I sauntered towards him, resisting the urge to pick and prod at the uncomfortable pearl necklace hanging from my neck.

He nodded at me and I curtsied before him with an innocent smile.

"Where is Borgia?"

"He hasn't arrived yet. He enjoys making entrances." I nodded understandingly. He looked at me suspiciously and I raised a brow at him. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

I gave a short laugh then shrugged. "It's more efficient." He continued to eye me. "It'll grow back, my hair is far too vengeful to actually stay short." I grinned at him, offering no more explanation, as having someone overhear could endanger us. He rolled his eyes at me.

"Have you met anyone interesting?" He asked. I scoffed.

"You know just as well as I that these peoples' color ends at their plumage." He gave me a sharp look but there was a grin in his eyes. I turned back to face the guests in the center of the room, just watching them socialize. When a servant passed with a plate of wine, I snagged a glass and sipped at it with a lady's cultivation, resisting the urge to just down the entire thing and set off to search for the source of the alcohol. I had only taken a few sips before in the other room people stopped their chattering to direct their attention to the entrance. Gianpiero and I glanced fleetingly at each other before moving to see the infamous Borgia enter.

"Buona sera, my friends! My associates! I am sure you are enjoying this feast, this gift I've given you. Now continue to delight in my generosity, and keep in mind our bonds." I raised my brow at his greeting. What kind of host threatens with generosity? I tapped my fingers on the glass in thought as Cesare sauntered through the greetings from his guests, successfully shrugging off most conversation until he reached Gianpiero and I. I took another sip of the wine I held in my hand.

"My friend," he greeted, shaking Gianpiero's hand. I looked into the chattering guests boredly, swishing the red wine around in the bottom of the glass. It was a very dry wine, and I hoped that the buzz achieved from too much alcohol would make itself apparent after a second glass.

"Ah, and mio bella donna." I turned my bored gaze on him. There was a cocky smile on his face.

I nodded my greeting, though I did not offer the usual formalities. The corner of his lip twitched down, and I had to consciously keep my expression straight. He ignored the coldness and continued conversation.

"The wine is good?" I nodded again, keeping indifferent and noting with a bit of nervousness in my stomach that Gianpiero was moving away from us. "It is from one of my very own vineyards." He placed a hand next to my head on the pillar I was leaned against, and I suddenly felt the urge to flee.

"Interesting." My eyes flickered up to make quick eye contact, then snapped back to the guests before I spoke again. "Did you enjoy my earlier performance?"

"I did. You are surprisingly skilled for a woman." I felt my eye twitch at his words, but I knew I had to appeal to him in some way. Just not in the way most of his women did. I looked up at him again, but this time I actually held the gaze, deciding that I could no longer pull off complete indifference. I leaned off the pillar I'd been propped up against and held myself in the posture I'd always been taught to hold. Straight, tensed, but not in an aristocratic way, in a ready way. In a way that you could move into any other position at a moment's notice.

"Perhaps we could spar sometime. I would like to see if I could come close to your skill." I complemented him without complementing him. He smiled that disgusting smile again. It occurred to me that he was trying to be seductive. I tried not to snicker.

"Perhaps." He nodded. "Come. I must introduce you to an old friend whom... reminds me of you." I raised a brow at that. He guided me through the crowd from behind. He wasn't actually touching me, but I felt trapped. We approached a beautiful woman, with long brown hair, looking slightly annoyed at a man who was making a not-so-subtle move on her. When she saw us approaching, she gladly moved away from him, bowing her head slightly at Cesare.

"Signore Borgia." The words themselves were fairly formal but her eyes were playful and her voice carried an amount of charm. "I was feeling a little hurt, you never invite me over anymore. But then I remembered I didn't mind much." She glanced back at the displeased nobleman with a scowl on her face. When she turned back to Cesare with a smirk, I noticed something about her. Something that was off. She seemed... fake. Like her friendliness was just plastered on.

"You know I don't often have time for dinners like this," he scolded. "I've someone for you to meet, Fiora. She reminded me of you, and I was debating over keeping her. Perhaps you can judge?" She turned her attention to me, smiling politely. I smiled back.

"Calendre. Calendre Foti. And you are Fiora." She nodded, her eyes flickering over me.

"And how exactly does she remind you of me?" She asked Cesare curiously, talking about me as though I was nonexistent.

"She is quite the guerriero, and quite beautiful as well. I saw a demonstration today, and she fought off several of my best guards." Fiora and I found ourselves both scrutinising each other, judging with cold eyes. He continued, apparently oblivious. "I believe she could be quite useful."

"She seems young." Fiora said, sounding unsure.

"I started my training at 8 years under my uncle's decision." I said, annoyed at her. I was surprised when Cesare backed me up. Sort of.

"She was slightly impressive, certainly not as sharpened as yourself, but I intend to have her refined." Fiora nodded, looking somewhat displeased. I looked at Cesare with a polite smile.

"May we go find some drinks?" There was tension in my voice.

"Be patient, child." He scolded me, looking irritated. I blinked and looked away before trying again.

"Shall I leave you to her?" I suggested impatiently, scowling at him. He gripped my wrist in a way that was not obviously violent but was a clear threat.

"What did I just say?" I scoffed, swallowing back my rage. He looked at Fiora. "Excuse us." He dragged me away and I felt panic fluttering in my chest. Goddamn. I hadn't had the chance direct him away from me. I wasn't ready to leave.

"Signore, I was simply-" I started but cut off when he only dragged me out of the two rooms and away from the guests. Once we were out of the view of the guests, he turned around and slapped me hard across the face. I just froze in shock. I'd been hit before but never in a way that felt so degrading. I'd only ever been struck by those who looked upon me as an equal. As an enemy or opponent. Certainly never had I been hit for what seemed so minor an infraction.

"Were you never taught to hold your tongue?" He hissed at me, and I just blinked at him, feeling the initial tightening of anger, disgust, and even a little fear in my stomach. He scoffed and started dragging me down the hall again. I felt the need to find my voice, but it wouldn't manifest itself. I couldn't decide what to do. If I snapped his wrist, I probably wouldn't be readily accepted. Nor would I if I knocked him out on the stone wall. I felt as though simply refusing him wasn't an option either, but before I could stop myself, my voice bubbled up and a cry, which I almost couldn't believe was mine, sounded in the hall.

"You have disrespected me in front of a colleague." He said, annoyed, as he shook me. "And you will never do so again."

"Vaffanculo." I spat at him. I was stunned at my own words and inwardly I slapped myself. He snarled at me and rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on my wrist further. "Get off of me!" I then roared. Shit. Shit shit shit. Where was my self control? However, no matter how much I recognized the severity of my actions, I continued to rant at him, quite loudly in my anger. Some of the guests were gathering outside the doors of the dinner room, looking on with curiosity and shock. I was pushing my limits further than is acceptable. "You think I'm some whore? Another toy for you to break?" He was starting to looked panicked, but his anger was only rising.

"You're a disgusting, pathetic coward!" That was when he yanked me hard enough to make me stumble into him. The group of guests gathered at the end of the hallway was now growing and there was whispering and gasps spreading through them. Even a few snickers. Cesare twisted my wrist painfully, making me drop to my knees and screw my eyes shut.

"You will pay for this, puttana." He grated out the words, and continued to drag me until we were out of sight of the guests again. He drug me to some guards who were patrolling the palace, and dropped me in front of them. I rubbed my wrist gently. I had a feeling it was going to swell. "Lock her up. I want her out of my sight. I don't care what else you decide to do with the cagna, but keep her alive."


	10. Capitolo Dieci

The tavern was thrumming with the underground vibe typically found in places of the same breed. The hearty chuckles and drunken rage of the men populating the dim, one-room, drinking den sounded raucously through the heavily drifting smell of alcohol. The place wasn't outrageously crowded or anything, but the darkly-fixed, hooded man could feel the pressing presence of lilting bodies and the heat of human occupation. He noted with a shaking head how much the room contrasted around him. Some were singing and engaged in avid conversation with friends and brothers while others slumped in the corners and across tables either sulking in a sad stupor or sobbing over whatever loss they experienced.

He worked his way back to an empty, ratty, oak table in the back, ducking and dodging away from overly-enthusiastic gestures and stumbling bodies. He took a seat in the corner table, sliding a hand up and pushing back his silver hood to run a hand through his dark hair. He felt the stress of his missing student eating at his sanity. He was finding it more and more difficult to restrain his temper and thoughts of revenge were eating at the rapidly thudding muscle in his chest. He was completely open to revenge. In fact, he intended to let loose his intent with wrath. But, for now, he could not allow his anger and fear to stand in the way of his search. He wasn't going to endanger Calendre for his own selfish needs. He continued to wait patiently for someone to meet him and hear his request, for thieves always saw when potential profit entered, and his mind reeled over the jumble of thoughts in his head.

What would he do if he could not find her? No, he would find her. But what if he found her and she was- god no. That wasn't an option. Not yet. What if she was injured beyond repair? Physically or mentally. And she could no longer serve the templar order? Would they shun her? Would she be cast out and away from him for the rest of his existence? He would not allow that either. If need be, he would take her and they would run.

Fuck Cesare. Fuck Fiora.

He didn't care if the courtesan took him off the street and gave him an actual life. He didn't care if he used to admire the woman beyond what was healthy. If she dared take away something that was so important to him, every thought or feeling he'd had towards her would dissolve from his mind. He narrowed his eyes at this resolve.

It was in this moment that Calendre and his' last night together flashed into his mind. If he never got to experience that again, he was sure his sanity wouldn't survive. Not with the knowledge that another human body could feel so wonderful. The knowledge that it was possible for another being to show so much devotion to him, a once steely and unemotional murderer. The wolf was fully certain he would never find this sanctity in another person, even if he searched a lifetime. He hadn't even known before that it was possible for someone to hold his sentiment so strongly. He knew for a fact that his former self would have despised his current self for such weakness.

"Fumare!" Il Lupo's head snapped up and out of his thoughts. No...

"Fratellino!" This was a second voice, not quite as deep than the first. He knew those voices and only two people in the world had ever called him either of those names.

"Vincenzo? Clemente?" The Prowler spoke slowly, carefully. His mind was frantically taking in the two men standing over his table, both exactly alike to the untrained eye. They both had mischievously glinting, hazel eyes, lean, unusually tall frames and long, gently wavy, dark-brown hair that was tied back to rest between their shoulders. He noted that they both wore identical clothing, simple and slightly dingy with dark emerald scarves wrapped securely around their necks, just like they always had. He remembered endless enjoyment from the fact that the outside world was completely unable to tell them apart. They'd gotten away with so many things with their near exact likeness. Both also openly held the endearing excitement that a 10 year old child would over a new plaything as they looked him over.

"You always were the pretty one, eh?" Clemente clapped him on the back with a hearty chuckle as he slid into a chair positioned at Il Lupo's 2 o'clock. Vincenzo sat in the chair opposite his brother, so he could speak directly to both Il Lupo and Clemente.

"I'd expected him to grow out of it," Vincenzo said in a teasing, thoughtful tone that was slightly deeper than his brother's.

"Did you ever get into that woman's skirt? What was her name again?" Clemente leaned in and mused over his thought. Il Lupo rolled his eyes and lounged back into his chair, grinning despite himself.

"Fabia." Vincenzo quipped.

"Fiora," Il Lupo corrected. "And no, but I was close." Both twins chuckled.

"It has been far too long, Fumare," Vincenzo said, growing slightly more sentimental as he used the name, Fumare; the one the twins had given him long ago, when they first met. They'd called him that ever since, explaining whenever he asked why they chose the nickname, that "one's name was nothing to question". The wolf would always mutter under his breath about either their incompetence or the loose validity of their answer. Eventually he figured it out.

"Sono d'accordo." Clemente nodded his agreement. Il Lupo sighed.

"I have missed you as well, i miei fratelli," the wolf nodded back at them both. "But I have something very important I must speak to you about." He paused a moment to loose the small pouch of money from his belt and set it on the table.

The twins glanced at each other an then back at their old friend.

"What have you done, Fumare?" Vincenzo said nervously, chewing at his lip, though there was a bit of amusement in his eyes. Il Lupo blinked and glanced away for a moment, then looked back at the brothers, feeling the lightest of blushes forming over his face.

"I fell in love." Both twins immediately relaxed, slumping back in their chairs and rolling their eyes with light laughs. Il Lupo scowled at their reaction. "What?"

"You're a fool, that's what." Clemente said with a scoff. He'd always been the brasher one. The hardy fighter with a survivor's soul. Vincenzo smirked at his brother, but leaned in to look at Il Lupo.

"Who is she? And why have you come here?" Ah, Vincenzo. Clemente may have been the survivor, the fighter, and they all were, but Vincenzo always seemed to have a deeper intuition than his brother. Not that Clemente was completely incompetent, he was just running low on empathy. Il Lupo decided to turn most of his words onto Vincenzo, but he could tell Clemente was still listening.

"Her name is Calendre Foti. She was assigned to me as an apprentice." He saw Clemente raise his eyebrow at the remark and Vincenzo blinked, the wolf trailing off, thrown by the twins' strange reaction.

"And why would you require our services?" Vincenzo questioned, pulling Il Lupo out of his pondering.

"She has disappeared, and I fear for her safety." Il Lupo swallowed heavily. "I need to get her back."

"I think we may be able to help, fratello." Clemente spoke up, and Vincenzo sent a sharp look his way. The wolf sensed something very off.

"You know something," the wolf breathed.

"Possibly." Vincenzo cut in. Il Lupo looked at the twin sharply.

"If you know something, you will tell me. Now." The Prowler snapped at the man, his voice angry, but also serrated with a yawning desperation. Vincenzo's eyes widened just slightly at the sudden realization of how much fear lay buried in the man's eyes. Clemente looked ready to make some kind of move, looking at his brother with warning eyes.

"That temper." Clemente then clucked at Il Lupo.

Vincenzo looked sincerely at his long lost friend. "You truly love her? Don't you?" The wolf swallowed roughly. Clemente let out a little huff.

"We may be able to help, but..." Clemente leaned forward slightly, looking at Il Lupo pointedly. "I am not going to give you any hope yet. Vincenzo and I will collect more information on the matter but even then, we may not be able to give you anything. It's possible that by doing so we would be endangering both her life and yours." Clemente said it in a business like tone, but there was something strained in his words. Il Lupo slumped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and briefly closing his tired eyes. Both twins looked on, slightly unsure of what to do with this crumbling mess of a formerly sharp, decisive killer.

"Go home and sleep well, my brother. We will do what we can and find you when we've got something." Clemente sighed as he stood. Vincenzo stood next.

"Maybe grab a drink? Just do not worry yourself," The deeper voiced twin added. "I'm fairly certain she is in no danger at the moment."

"Why can't you just tell me what you know? If she is safe now, why not secure her before she is harmed?" The twins shared that glance again. The glance that seemed to hold some telepathic conversation. The wolf looked between them.

"Goodnight, amico mio." Clemente nodded at Il Lupo as both brothers turned to exit the tavern, leaving the pouch of money behind. The disappeared into the smoke haze and slumped bodies and the wolf let his head fall into his hands atop the table. He sat there a moment, perfectly blending with the intoxicated patrons that made the bar their home. Then, he ran his hands through his hair and sat up, standing and working his way out quickly to fresh air.

When he exited the tavern, he stood for what seemed like forever outside the door, just staring up at the little pinpricks of glorious light that were freckled across navy blue night. He tried to forget the throbbing pain in his leg. The air was slightly cool, and completely still and it seemed as though absolutely nothing was stirring, besides the building behind him where the hum of activity thrummed even through the heavy wooden door. He wanted this to be over. This worrying. He wanted the beautiful templar back by his side and safe. Or, at least as safe as a murderer could be. This entire situation was making him sick to the core, which only made him feel even sicker, for having this much attachment to a person was disgustingly unhealthy. Perhaps it was infatuation...

But it wasn't. It couldn't be, because he felt too much loyalty, too much closeness. Passion was just lust and greed but what he felt was something different altogether. Something that seemed more and more likely to get him killed. And more and more likely to make him not care.


	11. Think No Evil

READ THIS BEFORE YOU START THE STORY

This is extremely optional. Just a one shot of them together, and it does contain knife play, blood, and molestion. Also understand that this is BEFORE Calendre and Il Lupo became really attached, when they still harboured dislike for each other, and is not essential to the story line in any way past extra character development. This is also not edited, so don't be surprised at how ugly it is.

He couldn't help but be amazed. How was it that a who murdered, stole, climbed ran, hunted, and did pretty much anything else a man did could look so soft and feminine? Even Fiora, though she was beautiful, was sharp and hard. She was currently cleansing her hair in the lake, the crystal mountain water swishing gently around her hips as she moved. The sun was glinting and sparkling off the little droplets of water trickling down her back and she looked so much more relaxed than he'd ever seen her before.

He noted with lazy amusement that she'd placed far too much trust in him. How naive could she be to expect him not to watch just because she'd told him not to? He was a man, moreover a man whom on a daily basis ran on primal instinct and took joy in taunting and torturing her. Besides, the fact that she'd told him not to look on made it far too tempting. So, he lounged with the horses, subtly watching his prey from a small hill that overlooked the water. The way her shoulder blades moved beneath her shining, wet skin drew his interested eye, and he felt the strangest craving to see what his blade would look like against that skin...

He pulled his hood down (he'd been feigning sleep to cover his wandering eyes) and pulled himself up, silently padding down the other side of the hill. The only way she'd let him get anywhere near her in her current state of complete vulnerability was if she had no idea he was there. He slid towards the edge of the water, struggling out of his clothing as he went and being sure to extract his dagger from his belt before looking up to lock onto his prey. He was excited to see the fear in her eyes when he took her by surprise. Only, something was missing.

And that thing seemed to be his prey.

He narrowed his eyes and his body tensed into full alert.

He suddenly heard a snort and a mess of heavy steps behind him from the horses and whirled, to find that his clothes, which he'd discarded only moments ago were now no longer on the ground, but perched in front of a barely-clothed Calendre who sat on top of her horse, which was reined to his own mare, both trotting away from a half naked and nearly weaponless Il Lupo.

"Cazzo," he breathed. He'd been so damn clumsy. The girl wasn't even looking back, but she was commanding the horses to increase their speed as they crossed an open field, leaving a parted trail in the long grass as they went.

"Aye! Puttana!" He was shouting at her as she went, now at a fast canter. She turned briefly and spat on the ground at the words. She looked pissed. Il Lupo now ran after her, but the horses were faster than he. He was sprinting after her through the field, dagger in hand, and leaving his own trail as he skipped over stray pebbles and rocks to avoid gashing open his foot. He had to get to her before she hit the tree line because he had no doubt she would just leave him out here to find his way to the nearest city, and the forest was littered with trail cut-offs and forks. There was a hateful tension between them and she'd tried to pull stuff like this before, though this time he found himself fearing her success.

"Mierda, mierda, mierda," he breathed as he ran. She was just about... nope. She was gone. He groaned and looked after the spot where she'd disappeared with hopelessness as he slowed his run. The bitch was definitely going to regret this when he found her.

If he found her.

Fiora was going to obliterate him. That is, if he didn't die out here first. Goddamn it. He ran a hand through his hair with an exasperated huff. Well, if he was going to get anywhere before nightfall, which was about 6 hours from now (not too bad) he'd better start sooner than later. He began slinking off towards the trail, an array of creative curse words and punishments reeling through his mind and off his lips.

The breeze would have been biting at his bare back if it weren't for the vicious sun glinting off his tanned skin. He stashed his dagger in the hem of his pants. At first it seemed as though the trails weren't as bad as he'd remembered, but as he got further into the forest they became less defined and there were small criss-crosses and lead-offs from travelling animals. It was worse than he remembered. he stopped picking over the faint trail and looked up at the slowly sinking sun, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and trying to decide whether to keep going or to just turn back and try to find the direction they'd come from. It was getting harder and harder to follow the trail and he had a nasty feeling he'd taken the wrong path about two forks ago.

Well, he'd rather be in a meadow next to a water source all night where he could be found than hopelessly lost in the woods with nothing but a dagger and a pair of trousers. So, he swivelled around and sighed as he began heading back towards the meadow.

He swore to himself as he headed back and preceded to walk until the shadows stretched over most of the forest.

Then, a long, sharp whistle sounded through the trees, and the wolf's instincts began a tug-of-war over whether to go on guard and try to run or drop to his exhausted knees in relief.

His instincts immediately turned into rage when he whirled around to find his disobedient pupil. As she trotted up, his mare tagging along behind her own horse, she sneered at him smugly.

"Vaffanculo," he spat. She rolled her eyes, tossing his clothes at him as she glanced up at the waning sun. He noted that she had gotten fully dressed wherever she'd run off to. He was about to say something about how much pain she was going to find herself in later, but a brilliant idea entered his mind. He slapped on a sly smile and bowed at the girl.

"Thank you, mio donna." At that, her expression twisted into confusion. He ruffled his hair, looking up and grinning crookedly at her again as he began to re-cloth himself. Now she looked downright scared. Perfect. After he was dressed, he mounted his horse and she reluctantly began off down the trail, glancing back at the wolf, who had his hood up to mask his features. As the forest dissolved around them into farmland and rural homes, Calendre grew more and more tense. Il Lupo did not speak the entire rest of the way, and as they entered the city and payed an inn keeper, he did not even spare her recognition. She swallowed, eyes flicking up to him a couple times a minute.

Only when they'd entered the room and he'd paced the room a couple times did he finally look her directly in the eyes. Calendre saw nothing. There was no emotion in those dark blue, almost gray eyes. She swallowed again. Then, without warning, he was slamming into her, pinning her arms above her head and holding her twisting form without any real effort.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" He snarled the words at her, and she turned away to avoid his now obviously furious visage.

"Look at me," he used the hand that wasn't holding her wrists to grip her jaw and force her face to turn towards his. "I am your superior, and you dare disrespect me." Now anger twisted into her fear and she let out a little huff, rolling her eyes. Yeah, maybe he'd violated her, in a way, but he was still her superior.

He dragged her around threw her down at the bed, and she started to scramble up but before she was able to, he was on top of her again with his leather belt. He flipped her onto her stomach and she went stiff for a moment before continuing to writhe. He secured her wrists behind her back and then sat back slightly, still straddling the struggling student's waist, to look her over. She was breathing heavily in her fear, and he could tell she was trying hard to pack away the panic. He pulled out his dagger, the one she'd left him behind with, and began turning it over and over in his palm, clucking his tongue in thought.

Then, he lowered the dagger to press the point right between her shoulder blades. Her breath caught in her throat. He laughed quietly and she began struggling at the belt again.

"I hope you don't care too much about these robes," he muttered as he removed the knife to place it higher, at the base of her neck and began dragging it downwards, its well sharpened edge tearing through the fabric with relative ease. She made a strange little sound as it pierced the skin beneath the fabric just enough to create a line of red life-essence.

"Shh," he breathed into her ear. She shivered underneath him. By the time he'd cut all the way through the cloth and her bare back was revealed to him, the girl was trembling. She may have been a trained killer, but she was still just a young girl. He began tracing a still fading scar that ribboned from half-way up the back of her neck and down across the plane of her shoulder with the point of the blade.

"Remember that night? That was a lovely night, was it not?" He referred with a sadistic sneer to the night he and the Doctor had muted her permanently and she made a sort of breathy, muffled sound beneath him, almost like a sob. The wolf scoffed. He felt her cringe slightly. It was then that he pressed the knife into her skin, crossing over the ribbon scar in a clean cut, watching with a sadist's fascination as the marred skin parted under the pressure and beautiful, crimson silk began to seep from the wound, pulling his student's breath out quicker and more erratically.

Out of a sudden carnal impulse, he dipped his head, letting the warmth of his breath bloom across the flesh of her back before his tongue protruded to drag across a small amount of the blood. It was bitter, metallic, displeasing to his senses, and it made his student shudder violently and attempt to roll out from under him, though the attempt was very much in vain. He then made another laceration, slicking the knife up from her lower back and a long her heaving side. The female made a choked sound and tried to wrench away, all of her muscles tensed, including her shoulders which were slightly hunched.

"If you relax, mio studente, the pain will not be as severe," he muttered to her. She did not relax.

He continued to make these gashes, slowly and precisely marking up her skin as she writhed and gasped underneath him. He grew tired of it, however, after about 6 good sized slashes and a few nicks and grew curious of the rest of the girl's skin. His fingers gently ghosted over unmarked skin in thought, making her shiver and try to turn her face to him, though she was unable to strain her neck that far and could only show him her profile which displayed pain, exhaustion, pleading, and a large amount of angry humiliation. He raised a brow at her.

She never did shed tears, did she?

He rolled off the bed lazily, and she began to painfully attempt to pull herself up to a less vulnerable position, frustration and distress flooding from her expression. For a moment, he just sat and watched her, amused at her struggle. She was trying to roll onto her side and push her self up with her face without straining or rubbing any of the wounds on the mattress. Quickly enough, though, she managed to get onto her knees and was about to pull herself up, glaring at the Prowler furiously, when he moved into to seize her, flipping her back down flat on the mattress and destroying her work, this time face-up.

At first she looked agonized at the rough handling on her wounds and enraged and ready to tear out his innards, but then her face flushed pink when she realized how exposed she was to the wolf, her breasts partially unguarded against the air of the room. She was still infuriated, but the anger had much less power beneath the blush. She turned her face away from the wolf, closing her eyes and swallowing uncomfortably beneath his gaze. He casually discarded the bloodied dagger onto a bedside table, and looked back down at her, her nipples pert at the cool touch of air from the open window, her just lightly golden skin freckled with reddish-pink, and her shoulders trembling slightly.

Purely because he could, he gently traced a little circle around one of her nipples, making her suck in a deep, shaking breath and causing her to flinch away from him slightly. He then pinched it harshly and she gasped again, her eyes snapping open, though she still didn't look up at him, keeping her eyes on the blank wall and hiding beneath the stray waving locks of hair that had fallen over her cheek. His finger trailed down over her skin and he placed a palm flatly on her stomach which only gave just slightly beneath the pressure he applied, for she was tensed in fear and pain.

Then he trailed slightly further downward to where her hip bones curved out slightly, his finger tracing one, following it downward to the hem of her leggings where the digit hooked in and dragged the cloth downward just enough to where it revealed a light dusting of hair. She made another one of those strained sobbing sounds.

She was almost... pretty in the dusk light. Even with her features twisted and her body scarred. He wrinkled his nose at this uncomfortable revelation.

She was just a girl; a stupid, disobedient student. And this was only punishment. Well deserved punishment for her insubordination.

He then noticed a well-progressing problem in his trousers.

He rolled his eyes and got up off of the girl, who breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his curious hands retreat. She struggled, completely exhausted mentally and physically, for a moment before she got up, and half braced herself for another tackling but also looked at the wolf with annoyed expectancy, trying to pretend nothing had just happened. He huffed and moved around to release her arms before he left the room, leaving a drained Calendre atop blood stained sheets.


	12. Capitolo Undici

The stone floor in here was unpleasantly cold and despite the situation, the only thing running through my mind was how funny the pin pricks of chill felt on my skin. The cell wasn't disgusting, but it wasn't pleasant either. The air was stale and heavy, the virtual silence was unnerving, and darkness within the cell strained my eyes, though it wasn't completely dark. There were scattered torches throughout all the passageways down here, but the actual cells were extremely dark, and I felt paranoia creeping in on me, filling in the absence created by the lack of any real manner of defending myself.

My violently bruised shoulder and wrist ached and the stitches up my side had long broken open, spilled blood, and become numb. The numbness should have worried me, but all I felt was relief. The beating from god-knows-how-long-ago had left it screaming at me, and I'd just curled up and tried to regulate my breathing to fend off the pain, but it slowly moved into my subconscious, like instead of an actual pain, it was just detached awareness. I shifted a little, shooing the fluttering sting away into my mind.

I wondered briefly if Gianpiero was trying to get me out. I didn't particularly want to stay in here. But, the thought dissolved away when there was a whisper. Just the slightest little breath of a name; my name. I frowned. I didn't really want to go insane, either, but clearly it was too late to save my mind. I shoved the voice away into my mind with the pain, but it came back, louder, which made the strange, deep twang on the words more obvious. I slowly lifted my head (as to not irritate the resting aggravations in various regions of my body) to search for the source of the voice and was startled when I saw the form of a tiny girl. A tiny girl that looked all too familiar.

"Bambina," I murmured to the little maid. She nodded, looking at me worriedly through the iron bars. "What are you doing down here? Aren't you going to get caught?"

She shuffled a little bit but then said quietly, "I want to help you get out." I smiled a little bit but shook my head at her, clutching my wound tentatively as I crawled up to her.

"You need to leave, now," I told her firmly. "Before you get in trouble."

I frowned when she pouted and shook her head.

"What exactly do you plan on doing?" At this she faltered and after a moment of glancing around, shrugged shyly. I sighed. She continued to search the dimness around her. Then, her eyes lit up and she flitted away. I pressed my face up against the bars, my cheek forcing one of my eyes to half-close as I tried to see her. For a moment, I actually thought she wouldn't come back, but she quickly zipped back into my view. I peered at her curiously as she started fiddling with the lock. After about probably a minute of her fiddling, she stopped, huffing and throwing what every little object she'd been using to the ground.

I began to wonder where the guards were, and taking a stab at it, I asked her. Her eyes widened a little bit at first, but then she giggled.

"Someone set fire to the tapestry outside." My own eyes snapped wide open. Did she just say she set a fire?

"You set the palazzo on fire?" I shout-whispered through the bars. She shrugged.

"It was an accident, and I ran because I was scared," she explained, though she made it obvious it was complete horse shit with the wide, mischievous grin and little giggles.

"Mio dio..." I breathed, quickly working out the situation in my mind, which I found was running a lot faster than before. If they found out the fire was this little girl's fault, she would get in huge trouble, no matter her accident excuse. More trouble than she would have if she'd simply wandered down here, probably. It became apparent that I needed to get us both out of here.

"Okay," I whispered to her. "We need to get out of here right now." She rolled her eyes at my statement of the obvious. This one was sassy. She turned around, now looking for a different plan. Her eyes locked on something in the corner that looked like a weapons' rack, though I was really stuck to making inferences because for some reason I was having problems focusing my eyes. She moved away from me and over to the rack, removing something from it and carrying it back over with far too much ease. The closer she got, the more disbelief flooded into my mind.

That was not natural. How could an eleven year old girl lift a hammer that size off the ground? Even I could not do that at her age and my uncle started my training when I was eight years old, right after padre died. Or was murdered. Oh well, that didn't matter anymore. At least, not right now.

"How.. did you, I mean," I stuttered, quieting when she just shook her head at me. There was something to this little girl, for sure. With a few moments exertion on her part, she managed to swing the hammer with a bit of force into the lock. All the swing did was make the lock a little less pretty. I chewed my lip and she pouted. With a grunt and fierce determination in her eyes, she began slowly working at the metal lock, each swing totalling about 30 second's time. Whatever, she'd done to keep the upstairs level in so much chaos that they still needed the guards that had left their posts, even after twelve, strenuous, completely exhausting-looking swings, I had to feel some respect for it. I imagined raging flames eating expensive carpets and tapestries and even unlucky guards and nobles as they tried desperately to quench the fire's hunger.

Then my respect was directed towards the little, arabian maid when I realized her true reason for being down here. She was defying them, in the most outrageous way she could. She was taking revenge on them for taking her liberty. I understood so deeply, that I almost found tears in my eyes. God, did I understand. This is what I was fighting for, was it not? I fought for Roma. I fought for her people. But I'd overlooked the tiny misgivings. I'd never thought about how many people still lie oppressed, overlooked by those who fight so mightily for freedom. The amount people who die with their wings clipped.

And here she was, so fiery in her need to defy, to taste the sky. Even if she may not fully understand how significant this was.

I was jarred from my revelation when the lock clattered to the floor heavily. We both kind of just stared at it for a moment before we jolted into action, and I jolted the pain from the back of my mind. I grasped my side with a breathy cry and she looked alarmed, but I gritted my teeth and kicked open the cell door.

"Give me the hammer," I rasped out to her, trying to push away the temptation to just collapse and be done with it. She pushed it into my grasp and I used it as a sort of support as we both struggled through the corridors. The only way out was the front door, and we both recognized that as a very large problem. As we were both preparing ourselves for failure, stepping out into the largely decorated hallway of the first floor and leaning me against a wall so I could actually breathe for a second, a mass of expensive fabric and luxurious robes came around the corner and we both started to hobble off the wall to make a sloppy run for it.

But then, I breathed a ragged sigh of relief, and the little maid looked up at me like I was insane, tugging on me to get me moving. I recognized that mass of robes, and I'd never been more thankful to see it. I assured the little girl into calmness and gave Gianpiero a relieved but slightly desperate look. He had something in his hands, some robes that matched his own in relative price and overwhelming fineness. I slumped slightly against the older man as he helped me into the hooded robe-like thing. He took the hammer, making me nearly lose myself to the impending threat of the ground, and stashed it off to the side.

"I'll meet you outside the gates," he said as he fastened the ties on the front, glancing nervously around. I nodded, trying to resist the urge to grasp my side, as I would look entirely too suspicious. He looked at the little maid.

"Walk a step behind her. Don't make any eye contact and prepare her a horse when you reach the stables." She nodded nervously. He looked back to me, but offered no more than a firmly reassuring nod before he gave me a gentle shove to leave.

Suprisingly enough, we got out with not much trouble. I'd been walking fast, with a slight limp, and twice, when guards had asked my business, I'd told them with annoyed obscurity that I needed to attend to signora Maria immediately and scuttled off, muttering minor indignities about the guards, with the little maid skittering after me. Once we were outside the gates and in a safe nook of stables, the girl began preparing a horse and I collapsed heavily against part of the fencing. I felt dizzy and light, which I knew was not a good sign. I needed a dottore immediately. The little girl looked concerned when she guided the horse over.

"You're really pale, signora," she said quietly. I swallowed and nodded. I figured as much. Gianpiero needed to get here fast, or we were leaving. The girl helped me mount the horse, thankfully without much trouble. I squeezed its sides gently, urging it into slowly moving out of stable. We both waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When I was at the point where I was unable to really sit upright on the horse, I nodded at the bambino and she took the reins and began guiding us to the nearest dottore at as quick a pace I could handle without falling.


	13. Author Update

So, I kind of stopped writing for a while, if you guys couldn't tell. I went through some really harsh times and I've developed a lot as a person and as a writer. So. I'm going to continue this story but right now I'm going back through and doing a lot of editing. Do not fret, this story is not dead. Just sleeping. I'll delete this bit once I've published the next chapter, probably in about a month.


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